by Jason Letts
“Can you confirm that this is you?” she asked. A digital effect on the screen highlighted him as he sat in the coach while the others threw lanterns onto the road.
“Yes, that’s me,” he said, while the woman gestured to him to move back near the stand.
“You stand accused of criminal mischief and destruction of city property. This arraignment will determine your guilt and your punishment, which is a maximum of one thousand bills and three years’ probation. Do you understand this?” she said, her voice crystal clear despite so many other judges speaking in other languages around her. Randall had to say it. Something was going on here.
“Are you Angela Lu?” he asked, fully convinced that the charge was designed to force their meeting in a way that worked to her advantage. His father had said how much the Lus needed to feel they were in control. Well, they certainly seemed to have the upper hand now.
“I am your judge,” the woman snapped. “And in Iron City we take our judicial responsibilities very seriously. All you will do is answer my questions. Now, do you understand the purpose of this arraignment?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered, sure it had little to do with determining guilt and punishment.
“Very well. You have confirmed your identity and pointed yourself out in the video. Now you must tell me: Where did you come from and for what purpose did you come here?”
Randall took a deep breath.
“I traveled from Madora to Iron City because I wanted to meet with Angela Lu of the Lu Dynasty telecommunications firm,” he answered.
“For what purpose?”
“I came to negotiate a trade agreement for their transfer battery,” he said. It surprised him how impassive she kept her face.
“But what would the Brackens possibly want with the transfer battery? You have no company, no product, no fortune. You don’t even have a home. How could you afford such a thing, and what would you do with it?” she asked. Randall didn’t miss a beat, going straight into the pitch he’d imagined giving in her office.
“I’m not going to argue with those points. They’re all true. But what you have to realize is that the Brackens are on the verge of a massive resurgence to take back market share from our competitors and restore our place in Cumeria. The transfer battery is essential to our competitiveness, and I’m willing to give anything—anything—for it.”
How quickly and how naturally the lies came to his tongue. It was like he had never left politics. Randall and his dad didn’t give two figs about the transfer battery. All that mattered was making sure Angela Lu thought that they did, and giving her the impression that Randall would willingly part with his own head in exchange for it. She appraised him from her high seat behind the bench, which was adorned in curled steel flakes.
“I’m confused. Why are you here to make this negotiation, Randall Bracken? You are not a businessman at all. You’re a politician who until recently was part of Cumeria’s Grand Council, and now you are making business trips for what is essentially a startup company? Please explain.”
Randall put on his best look of regret. So much was riding on his performance.
“You’re right again. I don’t belong here and I’m not cut out for this, but I’ll do whatever my family and my country need. I loved being Grand Councilor, and fighting for the people of the ClawLands has been my life’s work. I had a plan in place to serve all of the people of Cumeria in a greater capacity, but since Chancellor Aggart disbanded the council and assumed direct authoritative control, it seems those aspirations will never find fulfillment,” he said, trying not to oversell it.
All of the dots were there, and all Angela needed to do was connect them. She appeared to be a supremely intelligent lady, yet she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old. If she had in mind what he thought she did, the opportunity was right in front of her.
“You are aware of the state of Cumeria, aren’t you? Much has changed since you left, and not for the better. Some are starving, some are without clothes, and far too many are living with violence hanging overhead. The chancellor has created this environment in order to secure power, and some say he is invincible,” she said.
Angela must’ve been slow-playing her hand, feeling him out by dancing around the issue.
“No one is invincible when the will of the people hold you accountable. Aggart has overstepped his bounds, and there’s no way Cumerians will stand by while he transforms a democracy into a totalitarian state,” Randall added.
“Or they wouldn’t, if not for the premier families’ warfare. Our customers need someone to rally around and remind them what they are losing. The one who stands to face the giant at the top of Toine’s Spiral will bear the weight of constant threats and schemes designed to bring that opposition to a swift end. But there’s opportunity too…” Angela trailed off cryptically.
Yes, she had it, and Randall was well aware of the opportunity she referred to. Restoring market freedom in Cumeria would certainly stabilize the Lu Dynasty’s business, but it was also a chance to gain a stronger foothold in the country.
“What are you saying?” Randall asked.
“Has the thought crossed your mind to return to Cumeria and resume your campaign for the chancellor’s seat?” Angela asked as innocuously as if she were inquiring about what he had for breakfast.
Randall had been in politics too long to smile when someone played right into his plans. But before he could reply, she continued.
“But there is the matter of these charges. I could resolve them, and we could resume this conversation in our boardroom. You would owe me a great debt for doing so, Randall Bracken. What say you?”
Angela glanced ever so slightly at the red card on the stand beside him. A quid pro quo agreement to drop state charges in exchange for personal favors and leverage? There couldn’t be a clearer case of judicial misconduct, and she was well aware of it. He perceived that she was goading him to challenge her, and his father’s advice rang in his ears. He needed to completely abandon the upper hand, allow himself to be owned so thoroughly that he feel her hand on his back at every moment. Randall spied the red card and then returned his gaze to Angela in her judge’s seat.
“The Brackens have always been in the debt of our friends in the Lu Dynasty.”
Angela smiled, greedy but not displeasing.
“Randall Bracken, for the charges of criminal mischief and destruction of property, you are found guilty,” she declared, making Randall blink as he struggled to reconcile this with what he’d just agreed to. “As punishment, you will serve at the pleasure of the Lu Dynasty, reporting immediately for assignment. Remember, failure to abide by your sentence is grounds for capital punishment in Iron City law.”
Randall grimaced at Angela as two of the guards came and took him by the shoulders. She’d managed to take much more than he expected, but the end result was the same. For what they promised, he would be bound to them. The guards escorted Randall into the hall, where Taylor waited in alert anticipation.
“How did it go?” he asked. The entire plan was riding on the answer.
“That’s one point for Dad.”
Randall and Taylor returned to the Lu Dynasty’s headquarters, where they were ushered upstairs to a room containing nothing but pillows on the floor and tapestries on the wall depicting picturesque scenery of Plagrass’s northeast coast. They took off their shoes, pressed their palms flat against those of a few employees who had joined them, and sat down to orange tea and other pleasantries that Randall had expected to experience when he first arrived.
People in the Iron City assessed how well they knew a person by the sheer amount of time spent with them. That meant hours and hours spent sipping tea with people they couldn’t speak to, smiling, nodding, pretending it was good.
“I’ve got to piss like a racehorse,” Taylor whispered through gritted teeth. “When’s Angela going to get here?”
“I don’t know. Keep sipping and hold it in,” Randall replied, off
ering another smile to the middle-aged men and women who were essentially babysitting them.
Randall spent the time working through his father’s logic. Regardless of the chancellor’s control, Cumeria was in an unusual state of instability. The Lus were tired of being a foreign power, and owning the chancellor would give them all of the access and special deals the office afforded. Of course, running a campaign when there was no longer an official election was foolish at best, but they had plenty of strings they could pull to make it work. And if at the end of the day the mission proved unsuccessful, it wasn’t their heads on the chopping block.
At the start of the next work cycle they were sent farther up in the tower to the Lu’s conference room. To Randall’s surprise, the room had an uncanny resemblance to the battlefield at the top of Bracken Energy’s towers. A long black table was surrounded by windows, giving a clear view of the city’s electric lights and the fires raging on the battlements of the iron walls. The floating lights gave the impression they were among the stars, though Randall again kicked himself for not being here during the day when the tumultuous coast, the Plagrass WildLands, and even the northern ice shelf might’ve been visible.
“A pleasure for you to join us,” Angela said without much enthusiasm. Two of her sisters sat farther to the left, while the other five sat to her right. They all appeared nearly identical, with shiny black hair and piercing eyes, except their ages must’ve spanned more than forty years. Scanning back and forth, it was like looking into Angela’s past and future.
“Thank you for your hospitality and your help in the courtroom,” Randall said, nearly choking on the words.
“Hi,” Taylor said to the sister just to the left of Angela, who must’ve been in her late teens. Randall rolled his eyes. Fortunately the girl didn’t appear inclined to respond.
Small talk, tea, and even video presentations from staff members about various aspects of Iron City culture with grammatically questionable subtitles dragged on interminably until Angela Lu finally got around the point of the meeting.
“You never answered my question in the courthouse. Have you considered resuming your campaign to be Chancellor of Cumeria?” she asked. Having slouched so low in his chair his head was hardly above the table, Randall immediately sat up. It was clear this was what they both wanted, but Randall was in the awkward position of needing to try to talk them out of it without convincing them. He needed to make sure they thought it was their idea.
“Being Cumeria’s chancellor has always been my dream, but it’s something I can’t imagine will ever happen now. Aggart has the seat tight in his clutches, the ClawLands are no longer a sizable voting constituency, and most of the rest of the country is hostile to my family. There’s no feasible way to communicate with the masses. But above all, the election has been called off,” he explained.
Angela had a pad of paper in front of her that she scribbled circles on. It was hard to tell if the other women couldn’t understand him or if they were unanimously unimpressed.
“These concerns are immaterial,” Angela replied. “The power to shift public opinion in Cumeria does not rest with those who carry the biggest weapons. Most believe vast sums of money can buy elections in your country, but that doesn’t matter either. We can give you incredible exposure with the help of the Megga Media Company, a native Cumerian company that’s ultimately dependent on our airwaves and channels, but even telling the entire country what to think would not change a single mind if there wasn’t already a seed inside that we could latch on to.”
“Then what would give me a chance?” Randall asked, intrigued. His father had sent him here knowing that the Lus’ news outlets and gobs of money would be enough to cause a stir in the country, but Angela Lu was getting at something deeper that existed within the fabric of Cumerian culture. All of the Lus had a reputation for being shrewd negotiators and forward-thinkers, and Randall was beginning to see why.
“In the mind of a Cumerian, there is a basic sense that legitimizes retribution for those who have been transgressed against. The logic of that sense follows that after the Brackens were attacked, they should have been able to fight back, but instead they were doubly wronged by being forced out of the country in Chancellor Aggart’s seizure of power. For you to return and make your case that the Brackens have been denied their fundamental right to a defense, it will resonate widely, even in the minds of your opponents, and deal a subtle blow to Aggart that will give you a foothold in the country.”
“The Vendetta Clause,” Randall surmised. “But the laws are enforced at the discretion of the chancellor.”
“You’re not listening,” Angela said, her words stinging like a slap. “That right to avenge does not just exist on paper at the will of the chancellor; its strength comes from the sensibility of every citizen in the country. You will show them the rift between what they believe and how their government functions, which will give you legitimacy. If Aggart fights it, he will only exacerbate this, and he will become a pariah king, waiting to be overthrown.”
Randall glanced over at Taylor, who was similarly absorbed in the words of this foreigner who arguably knew more about Cumerians than they did, at least at this moment. There was no doubt she was on to something, but the question remained of whether it would work and if at the end of it he’d still have his head. But the black contract rendered those questions moot.
“Then I think I’m your man,” Randall said, flashing the winning smile of a politician and extending a hand. Angela regarded him coolly.
“We will take you to Cumeria, organize your campaign, and put you in position to win an election that, as of now, will not take place. We can do all this, but it’s up to you—an overprivileged, vain, and altogether uninspiring shyster—to become the one person Cumeria will turn to from a tyrant. You must take that last step yourself, but it will not absolve you of your responsibility to us once you become Chancellor. Remember, you owe us a debt.”
Angela Lu extended her hand, palm out, and Randall pressed his to hers to seal the deal, though he could have done without the personal comments. Still, he found it comforting to have all of the cards right on the table. As Grand Councilor, he had never known when someone would perform some petty task and claim he owed them for it later. At least now he knew whose pocket he was in.
“When do we get started?”
“Immediately,” Angela replied. “Every cycle we wait is one more chance for the new normal to cement itself in their minds. Air travel has changed, however, along with a great many things since the destruction of your power plants. Only the very rich can afford the fuel to fly, and because of that Chancellor Aggart’s men search every flight for items they can claim as a tax. You’ll need to get off the plane before it lands, or else they’ll capture and kill you immediately.”
“Great,” Randall mumbled, already imagining breaking his legs after jumping out of the plane.
“Leave it to us,” Angela said, and all at once the eight sisters rose from their seats. One of the men from the pillow room came in to escort them out, but Randall lingered for a moment near the window, where he could see a broad section of Iron City and even some lights on a shelf above that must’ve been the airport.
“Can I ask you one more question? Where does the iron come from in Iron City?” he asked, and for once Angela seemed caught off guard.
“I decline to answer that question,” she said.
Of course you do, Randall thought. That would only save us from all of this.
Exiting the room and walking down the hallway, Randall and Taylor kept their mouths shut until they’d collected their bags and left the building and its omnipresent cameras. They took to the streets and caught a lift that elevated them along the wall to a domed tunnel leading to the airport a short distance from town. Since they were reasonably confident their guide couldn’t speak a word of Cumerian, now they could talk freely.
“It looks like we got everything we wanted, huh?” Taylor grinned, patting Ran
dall on the back. It was strange for him to be so happy about it. If all went well, Randall would be risking death for months, but Taylor would be leaping into it with open arms.
“Yes, Dad is surprisingly good when it comes to orchestrating a long, slow demise,” Randall said.
The Iron City airport had all of the appeal of a dank cellar. Only a few floor lights were active, leaving Randall and Taylor to essentially wander the terminals in the dark past hundreds and hundreds of empty chairs. Farther on at the end of the terminal, a few lights on a plane were visible through a glass window, and two Lu Dynasty employees were waiting to take them on board and did so without bothering to say a word.
Randall and Taylor had their pick of about eighty empty seats. They were the only passengers, and only one of them would get off the plane when it landed near the city of Ristle.
“It’ll be good to be home again, don’t you think?” Taylor asked once they’d parked themselves into some plush, cream-colored seats. He chattered on about the food he missed, Ristle’s famed market, and some former classmates he was hoping to run into. Randall looked at him in disgust. The more looming the danger, the happier Taylor seemed to be about it. The Ma Ha’dere really had done something weird to his brain.
The plane took off into the night, and the two of them settled in for a long flight. They’d spent nearly the entire cycle sitting in the meeting room with the Lu sisters, and now they were stuck in their chairs for another long cycle. Randall lost track of time and spent the remainder of his free moments dozing intermittently to the steady buzzing sound of the plane’s engines.
A sharp pinch on the neck woke him up, and he squealed while uttering curses about the people of Iron City. It was morning, and Randall glanced out of the window to find the plane flying incredibly low to the ground. They must’ve been awfully close to Ristle’s airport, the swampland adjoining it being a dead giveaway.